


Dreamer from Darkness

by HamHamHeaven



Series: Greyscale [17]
Category: Jrock, MUCC, lynch.
Genre: Angst, Colorblind Soulmate AU, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Hand Fetish, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Swearing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamHamHeaven/pseuds/HamHamHeaven
Summary: Dreaming about the future is dangerous for Tatsurou, since he knows he can never have who it is he wants most.





	Dreamer from Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW vkyaoi community January challenge - incorporate dreams (either of the aspirational or the nighttime variety) into the plot.  
> 

The last night of summer holidays, their last night together before childhood is officially over.  Tomorrow, everyone leaves for university, for apprenticeships, for employment, and they all know that no matter how often they promise to stay in touch and remain friends forever, the closeness born of spending nearly every waking moment together is going to fade.  It _has_ to.

Even so, they’re not ready to let go of it until absolutely necessary.  When someone – none of them quite remembers who suggested it first – proposes “borrowing” a family station wagon and going camping, they all agree it’s the perfect idea.  They can stay up as late as they’d like being as loud as they’d like with no weary family members to disturb.  And if a few bottles of alcohol just _happen_ to drop into the bag next to the soda, there’s no harm done, as no one will be driving until morning.

The seven teenagers arrive at the camp site late afternoon and choose a secluded spot near a rocky outcropping not far from the river.  The weather is warm and comfortable, the air filled with the scent of pine and the buzzing call of cicadas in the long rays of a slowly-sinking sun.  Sleeping mats are tossed into something resembling a ring around the unused fire pit, bags of food and beer are unloaded, and the festivities commence.  Eating, drinking, laughing, reminiscing, and prophesying.  An ideal ending.

Except….

 

Well into the night, Tatsurou wanders off into the moonlight to relieve a full bladder.  Anyway, that’s the excuse he plans to use if anyone bothers to ask him where he’s going.  No one does; they are all too caught up in their ridiculous, inebriated conversation to notice.

_Idiots._

He deposits himself on branch-shadowed rock near the river’s edge, allowing his bare feet to hang over the bank, toes just brushing the surface of the cool water.  He’s close enough that he can still hear the others, but far enough away that, aside from the occasional exclamation, they fade into the background of ambient noises around him: voices, insects, breeze, and water.  A soothing drone to lull away his irritation as he attempts to quench some of his thirst in peace. 

Staring out over the silvery ripples, he retrieves his secret stash from a cargo pocket: a flask of vodka he syphoned off the bottle his oldest brother keeps hidden in the back of his desk drawer.  He doesn’t feel the slightest remorse for stealing; in Tatsurou’s opinion, if your hiding place is that obvious, you deserve to have your booze stolen.

He sips the clear liquid, focusing on the sharp tingling in his throat.  There’s fire of a different sort that he’s been trying to ignore all night smouldering between his legs, and now that he’s alone, he rubs at himself through the denim, heat rekindled immediately as he imagines someone else’s hand at work there.  Long, skilful fingers; warm, wide palms.

 _What I wouldn’t give to have him touch me_.

“So this is where you snuck off to!”

The low voice of his fantasy so close to him nearly causes the startled teen to fall off his rock; he squints over at the silhouette of his best friend barely visible under the dark trees.

“Th’hell, Hazu?” he croaks, quickly doubling over to hide his prominent bulge with the hem of his baggy T-shirt.

It’s not as though he needs to be ashamed of slipping away to release some tension.  They are all horny adolescent boys; they all know what that urge is like.  But Hazuki has a habit of asking who and what people are imagining, and Tatsurou has too much alcohol and adrenaline pumping through his system to concoct a convincing lie on short notice.

“Like I couldn’t tell you were holding out on us,” scoffs Hazuki, strolling from the shadows. 

Apparently unaware of his friend’s problem, he crouches down next to Tatsurou and holds out an expectant hand. 

“Gimme.”

Tatsurou stares at that hand and swallows hard.

_I swear to gods, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose._

“Get your own,” he mutters, clutching the flask to his chest.

“Share with me, or share with all six of us.  Your call.”

Tatsurou will give Hazuki anything he asks for if it means more time together.  Even so, he mutters darkly under his breath as he hands it over, pretending to sulk as Hazuki takes an enormous swig.  To his amusement, Hazuki gives a wheezing cough the second the potent fluid hits the back of his palate and has to pound his own chest a bit to counter-act the burn.

“Serves you right for guzzling it,” declares his best friend.

“Damn, that _is_ the good stuff.  No wonder you were hoarding it.”

Tatsurou steals the vodka back and takes a hefty swig of his own.

“Wasn’t hoarding anything,” he denies.

“What sent you off, then?  Yukke getting on your nerves with his scratching?”

Tatsurou gives a snort of laughter.  It’s actually pretty ironic that out of seven warm bodies to choose from, every insect in the prefecture seems to want to bite the guy who has the worst reactions to them.

“Nah, that’s funny.”

Hazuki tilts an eyebrow in a way that tells Tatsurou he’s not going to let the subject drop and takes another mouthful.

“Just couldn’t take any more of the delusional crap, y’know?  ‘Someday I’m going to be a CEO’,” Tatsurou mimics in a high, pompous voice. 

Hazuki chokes again, this time in amusement at just how annoying his friend can make his voice.

“‘I’m going to be a millionaire and live in a penthouse, marry a supermodel and drive a Mustang, fly on a unicorn and piss fuckin’ rainbows.’  CEO, my ass!”  Tatsurou declares sourly.  “None of us is going to amount to a goddamn thing.  Pretending otherwise is stupid.  Pisses me off.”

Even with the top-shelf vodka flowing through his system, Hazuki sobers a bit at his friend’s words.  The Mustang and supermodel are _his_ ‘delusional crap’, and Tatsurou’s tone is particularly venomous at those.

“Okay, there’s probably not a CEO among us,” he acknowledges pragmatically.  “But what’s wrong with wanting a hot girl and a hotter car!  I mean, nobody _aspires_ to thirty years crunching numbers in a cubicle, right?  So why not at least hope for a future that doesn’t suck.”    

Tatsurou shrugs and hurls a pebble out into the river.  What’s _wrong_ is that Hazuki’s dreams of the future don’t include him.

“C’mon.  There’s gotta be something _you_ want,” Hazuki wheedles, poking Tatsurou in the ribs with a slender finger.

The breath catches painfully in Tatsurou’s chest as he looks at his friend.  A dark curtain of hair falling over dark, piercing orbs, their focused intensity on him so appraisingly, he wonders if Hazuki can read the truth in his face. 

What can he say?

_Yes, there’s something I want.  I want your hands all over me.  Want to kiss you and touch you until those anorexic bimbos fade from your head and all you see is me._

Hazuki licks his lip; quickly, Tatsurou grabs away the vodka and gulps the rest down.

“Want you to stop stealing my shit,” he deflects. 

“Never gonna happen.  Try again.”

Tatsurou remains obstinately silent, so Hazuki takes another sharp jab at his ribs.

“Come on.  The most fantastical of delusional crap you can think of.”

“Not interested in delusions,” Tatsurou grunts, beginning to lose his patience with Hazuki’s persistence. 

“Then pick something attainable.  What do you want for your future?”

_You._

“A different pair of lips wrapped around my cock every night,” snaps Tatsurou.

_Why is Hazuki pushing this so hard?_

“Talk about delusional!” Hazuki grins at him.  “With _your_ face, that’s asking a lot.  Maybe you should lower your expectations a bit.”

Tatsurou knows he isn’t handsome by anyone’s standards, not even his own.  He’s usually the first one to joke about it, and in his heart he knows Hazuki doesn’t mean to be hurtful with his teasing.  But it’s not funny tonight.

“Fuck off,” he growls, pointedly turning his attention back to the river. “Never gonna be _your_ lips, so what do you care?”

Tatsurou regrets the words even as they are leaving his tongue.  He’s being way too obvious this time.  Hazuki is going to figure out what he means, tell him how disgusting he is, and the friendship will be over.

“If that’s your way of saying you want nee-chan, I’m gonna drown you,” Hazuki quips, evidently missing the real connotation.

“Siblings are off-limits,” Tatsurou quickly acknowledges.  “We all agreed to that.”

“Anyhow, our family’s lips are too thin for that,” continues Hazuki.  “Best I could offer would be a hand-job, and what guy would want my hands when he’s got his own?”

Tatsurou has never heard anything so asinine in his entire life, but he’s not about to risk Hazuki noticing his reckless almost-confession by continuing the discussion further. It’s such a relief that Hazuki didn’t understand what was said.  And yet, in a way, it’s disappointing, too.

_Is it really so impossible to imagine being with me?_

Silence creeps up on them in the darkness as they sit side by side, each lost in his own contemplations.

“You’re not gonna forget about me when you get to Tokyo, are you?”

Hazuki’s voice cuts through Tatsurou’s thoughts with a wistful tone that he’s never heard before.  It makes Tatsurou want to pull his best friend into his lap for a rather tactile form of reassurance.

“Dumbass,” he scoffs instead.  “Like there’s anyone in Tokyo cool enough to make me forget you.  Besides, I’m still counting on you finding a way to convince your mum to let you move up there with me, especially when you see just how boring your life is about to become.”

He takes Hazuki’s hand in his, pulling them both up to their feet; he lets the touch linger just a moment longer than usual, then twines his arm around Hazuki’s waist.  Leaning in close, he murmurs into his best friend’s ear:

“If you come with me, I’ll buy you that Mustang you want so bad.”

Hazuki squirms awkwardly in his friend’s arms, laughing.

“Just how are you gonna afford that?” he asks, melancholy forgotten.

Tatsurou grins in return.

“Guess I’ll just have to amount to something after all.”

 

~~~~Fifteen Years Later~~~~

The intercom on Tatsurou’s desk buzzes annoyingly, interrupting the steady rhythm he’s established in and out of the pretty clerk’s mouth.  With a grunt of frustration, he leans over and presses the button, keeping his hand firmly on the back of her head.

“What?”

“Iwakami-san?  Hazuki-san is here to see you.”

His hard cock twitches against the girl’s tongue.

_Caught again.  Perfect._

“S-sent him in.”

That slight hiss is the only clue to anyone beyond his office walls that anything indecent is occurring, but Tatsurou can feel his heart-rate jump to the sort of frantic pace getting blown at work would be enough to cause for anyone else.

_Hazuki’s just outside.  Walking down the corridor toward the office._

He shifts forward in his seat, planting his feet on either side of the woman’s knees for additional leverage.

_Tight jeans, tattooed skin, hair to his shoulders falling into those haunting eyes and pushed back by those perfect, delicious hands._

The door opens, revealing the reality of what his mind’s eye has been showing him.  Tatsurou eyes roll back in his head, and with a groan he fills the young woman’s mouth with hot release, causing her to sputter and gag.  Hazuki’s eyes widen.

“Are you fucking?!”

Tatsurou gives a breathless laugh and pats the woman on the cheek.

“Not anymore.  We’ll finish this up later, ne?”

He doesn’t bother looking at her as she scrambles out from underneath his desk, hastily straightening her blouse as she bows her way past Hazuki in mortification.  The disgust on Hazuki’s face is evident, and it hurts.  But at least Tatsurou knows that he’s being _seen_ for a moment. 

“For gods’ sake, Tatsu, how many times do I have to tell you I don’t want to walk in on crap like that anymore!”

“You didn’t see anything,” Tatsurou defends, shoving himself back into his trousers.

“I didn’t need to see anything to embarrass the hell out of that poor girl.  And what I did or didn’t see isn’t the point.”

“She’ll get over it.  What are you bitching about anyhow?  It’s only been like twice.  Enjoy the free porn and shut up.”

Hazuki’s ink-covered arms fold over his chest, brows drawn in a scowl.

“It’s been five times in the last year.  And I’m not interested in any porn involving you, free or otherwise.”

“Then you’d better avoid the DVDs labelled ‘Teen Titans Go’ at the bottom of my sock drawer.”

Hazuki heaves a sigh of irritation.

“Why’d you call me down here?  I have a full tattoo sleeve I have to mock up for an appointment tomorrow.”

Tatsurou digs around in his desk drawer for a second.

“Follow me,” he answers enigmatically.

Straightening his loosened tie, Tatsurou leads Hazuki out the showroom door toward the parking lot.  Hazuki’s confusion mounts as they cross from the new auto sales area through the pre-owned vehicles toward employees’ parking.  There, in the spot Tatsurou’s sedan is normally parked, sits a shiny new Mustang – a blinding glitter of black and chrome in the sunlight.

Hazuki steels himself for what he’s sure is coming: his best friend flaunting something he knows Hazuki has always wanted.

“Is she hot enough for you?” Tatsurou asks smugly.

Hazuki grits his teeth.

 _There’s no point being jealous_ , he tells himself.  _Tatsurou works hard; he deserves to treat himself to such an exquisite machine as a reward._

“She’ll do.”

“I know you always used to talk about a red one, but black seems to fit your aesthetic better these days.”

Hazuki’s so distracted cataloguing each wonderful detail of the metal beauty that he doesn’t process that statement right away.

“Black is always classic… wait, _my_ aesthetic?”

Tatsurou grins and tosses the key fob at him, which Hazuki catches reflexively.

“Happy birthday.”

“My… birthday is in December,” he replies stupidly, eyes wandering from car to friend and back again.

Tatsurou scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well, it took me a bit longer than expected to get everything squared.  I gave you an IOU.”

“An IOU for like a beer or something, man, not a _car_!” Hazuki moves closer.  “Not _the_ car.”

Reverently, he reaches out a hand to stroke over the roof, but doesn’t quite let his fingers brush the paint.   He doesn’t dare leaves smudges. 

Tatsurou thrills at Hazuki’s reaction, body already beginning to reawaken to the sight of his friend’s long fingers skimming gently over the metal frame.  It’s involuntary; his mind immediately supplies him with the impression of how his own flesh might feel under that touch. 

_Five minutes around him, and I’m feeling like a damn teenager again._

He shivers and tries to push the desire away, focusing on his best friend’s reverent expression.  Nothing has ever made Tatsurou quite as happy or amused as watching the awe on Hazuki’s face as he peaks through the tinted windows of his new vehicle.

“Get in.”

Hazuki inhales as if to say ‘no’, turning to Tatsurou as if to ask if he’s _really_ allowed.

“She’s _yours_ , Hazu.  You don’t need my permission.”

Hazuki debates for a few seconds, then grasps the handle of the door with the hem of his shirt and gently opens it.  New car smell wafts from the dark leather interior as he turns himself and eases down into the seat.  Since the protective paper coverings are still on the floor mats, he swings his legs in, finding everything is in exactly the perfect position for him: mirrors, steering column, even the headrest.

 _Fully loaded and utterly flawless_.

“This must have cost you a fortune,” he murmurs softly.

Tatsurou shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about the price.”

However, now that the thought has occurred to him, Hazuki can’t _not_ think about it.  He reads automobile magazines and blogs, and follows those car-talk YouTube channels.  There’s no doubt that the vehicle he’s sitting in cost more than many people’s yearly salaries.  And his friend spent that on him.

“I can’t accept this.”

It’s barely a whisper, but Tatsurou catches it.

“What?”

“I can’t accept this,” repeats Hazuki, holding out the key to Tatsurou.

He doesn’t take it.

“Why not?”

“It’s too much, Tatsu.  This,” he gestures around the cab, “You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me.”

“It’s my money.  I should spend it however I want to.  I told you when we were kids I’d buy it for you one day.  Let me spoil you.”

Oh, that word rankles.  Maybe Hazuki hasn’t made as much of his life as his mother or ex-girlfriend would like or as his teenaged-self envisioned, but he’s still a man with pride.  In an instant, Hazuki is out of the car, flinging the key fob at his best friend’s head.

“I’m not your fuckin’ mistress, Tatsu!” he snarls.

Tatsurou can’t understand his friend’s reaction, but anger is automatically met with anger.

“Did I ask you to bend over?” he retorts.

“No, you’d want me on my knees, wouldn’t you.  Like that pathetic girl under your desk… just another pair of lips to wrap around your cock.”

Hazuki can’t stop the venomous words spewing from his mouth, even while his stomach twists with guilt at the visible pain they cause.  So he takes the only available option and walks away, leaving his best friend under a gathering thundercloud of uncertainty and resentment.

Tatsurou slams the Mustang’s door closed and stalks back to his office, employees scattering before him like terrified creatures on the run from a rampaging elephant.  His mood darkens even further when he discovers the young woman from earlier waiting for him there.

“Lose an earring or something?”

The shy smile she’s wearing disappears at the coldness in his tone.  Somewhere within him, his conscience prickles at how dismissive he’s being, but with Hazuki’s sharp condemnation so fresh in his mind, it’s difficult to care about anything else.

“Er… I was w-wondering,” she offers hesitantly, “If maybe you wanted to get a drink after work, or….”

“Listen,” Tatsurou cuts her off unfeelingly, “I think we both know this isn’t going to work out.”

“But earlier you said….”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t really anything special, was it?”

“You liked it well enough when _he_ showed up,” she accuses.

“I like getting caught,” he corrects her.

It’s such an easy half-truth to tell after all these years: this charade that _anyone_ might do to him what his best friend does.

“Be glad it was only Hazuki and not our manager.”

“Y-you would have stopped if it was the manager,” she asserts uncertainly.

He shrugs.

“Might.  Might not.  I’m the best salesman in the region, so being caught indulging in some during-working-hours playtime isn’t going to do _my_ career much harm.” 

Before she can argue, he plays his ace.

“Not like I have a wife at home to be offended.”

Her face pales.

_So I was right; she is married.  Thank gods._

“Let’s leave well enough alone, ne?  Before someone gets hurt.”

She stares at the floor for a while, fists clenching the hem of her skirt, then she gives a sharp nod and quickly departs.

 _Before someone gets hurt_ , he mocks himself, sinking wearily behind his desk. 

As if that’s even possible with ‘want me on my knees’ still ringing in his ears.  Has Hazuki figured out the truth, or was it just an unlucky guess based on Tatsurou’s earlier triste?  And why had he gotten so upset about the price of the automobile?  Yes, it was expensive, but Tatsurou has nothing and no one better to spend his money on.

_I just wanted to make him happy.  What the hell did I do wrong?_

~~~~

Hazuki is anything but happy.  He’s angry with himself for hurting his best friend, angry with Tatsurou for creating such an awkward situation in the first place, angry with the Universe for playing tricks on them, and royally pissed off at the stupid printer for mis-feeding three sheets of paper in a row.

Lights on the front of the machine flash at him, and a general ‘printing error’ message pops onto the screen.

Make that four.

“Useless piece of….”

Hazuki presses the ‘cancel’ button; nothing happens.  He pokes it again, harder.  Still nothing.

“Work, dammit!”

He grabs the end of the paper that’s fed only half-way through and gives a powerful yank.  The machine whines as the gears are forced to rotate backwards.  A muscular forearm suddenly appears before him, shielding the hapless printer from his wrath.

“Mind explaining to me who caused the rage you are currently misdirecting?” his boss challenges.

Hazuki gives Ju-Ken a chastened look and a bow.

“Sorry.  You’re right.  It’s not the printer’s fault.”

“What happened?” the older tattoo artist asks.  “Bump into Yuki?”

Hazuki shakes his head.  Oddly enough, his ex is the least of his stresses at the moment.

“Tatsurou,” Arimatsu surmises over the top of his sketch pad.

 “How’d you guess?” Hazuki grimaces.

“It’s always Tatsurou,” states Arimatsu matter-of-factly, letting his pencil fall on the desk.  “What’d he do this time?”

Ju-Ken gives his soulmate a warning look.

“Thought you were gonna stay out of it, Babe.”

“He… bought me an automobile,” explains Hazuki. 

_Boy, does it sound petulant when he says it out loud!_

“One I’ve wanted since I was old enough to understand what they were.  A ¥5,000,000 Mustang.”

“Hot damn, my boyfriends never bought _me_ a ¥500 train ticket!” 

“Not helping, Ari.”

Arimatsu ignores Ju-Ken.

“Why are you here instead of out christening the thing with a joy ride?”

“I blew up at him for something he said.  Well, no, technically, more like something I interpreted from what he said, which I’m pretty sure he never meant, but….”

Hazuki glances over his shoulder to be sure no customers will hear him. 

“I was already in a bad mood after walking in to him with some skank on her knees… again.”

“Woah,” Arimatsu holds up a hand.  “Someone needs to check himself.  A woman’s not a skank just because she’s on her knees for a guy _you_ want.”

“I’m gonna duct tape your mouth closed, Babe,” Ju-Ken growls, giving Arimatsu a swat on the rump.  “Let the man talk uninterrupted.”

“I d-do not _want_ him!” Hazuki sputters.

“Yes, you do,” insists Arimatsu.  “You’ve wanted him for as long as we’ve known you.  And anyone who has ever seen the two of you together knows he wants you back.  In fact, for the first year you worked here, Ken and I thought the two of you were actually dating on the DL, and were just hiding it for… whatever reason.”

Hazuki can’t believe that.

“R-really?  You never said….”

“It’s none of our _business_ who you’re seeing as long as it doesn’t interfere with how you treat the clients,” Ju-Ken interjects, hoping to curb his partner’s meddling tendencies.

No luck. 

“My point is,” the piercer continues without batting an eye, “If things aren’t where you want them to be with him, that’s on _you_.  You’ve had the last ten years to step in and claim him for yourself.  Don’t go getting your panties in a twist that he’s not sitting around celibately pining for you.”

Ju-Ken throws his hands in the air in exasperation, muttering under his breath about nosey know-it-alls.

“Now, however your petty jealousy may or may not play into your misinterpreting what he said, the fact remains that the least you can do when someone buys you a ¥5,000,000 Mustang is to show some frickin’ gratitude.  ‘Cause that kind of bankroll don’t grow on trees.  Get your shit together, man.”

The front door slides open, and further discussion is prevented by Arimatsu swaggering off to greet his client.  After a few seconds, Ju-Ken awkwardly clears his throat and adds.

“None of my business.  But it wouldn’t hurt to give the guy the benefit of the doubt.  I mean, he _is_ your best friend.”

Hazuki shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“I… yeah, maybe, I guess.”

Ju-Ken gives him a hearty slap to the back.

“Give it some thought at least.  Meantime, stop taking it out on the printer.  Or you’ll be buying us a new one.”

 

By closing time, Hazuki has given it plenty of thought and is ready to apologize for his overreaction.  On his way, he ducks into the conbini near Tatsurou’s building for a pack of smokes, only to find Tatsurou seated in the back miserably slurping down a cup of noodles.

“What the hell are you doing in this dump?  Don’t tell me you’ve been living on instant ramen to buy me that ridiculous Mustang.”

Tatsurou snorts but doesn’t look up.

“Don’t flatter yourself.  I had to save for a while, but it didn’t bankrupt me.”

Hazuki slides down into the seat next to his friend.

“Then why?”

Tatsurou shrugs and stares down into the broth.

“Can’t believe how much we used to hang out here,” Hazuki observes nostalgically, glancing around the shabby building.  “Remember – when I first moved here?  Used to be our go-to place.”

“We don’t have much that’s ‘ours’ anymore,” replies Tatsurou sullenly.  “You have your tattoo parlour and Yuki, and I’ve got my job and… whoever.  It’s….”

“I don’t have Yuki,” Hazuki interjects softly.

Tatsurou turns his head just enough to watch his friend out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh.  Sorry.  Since when?”

“Since about a month ago.  She said she needed someone with more financial stability.”

“Bitch,” Tatsurou mutters under his breath.

“Nah, I understood what she meant.  She’s ready to settle down.  And my client base is growing, but I’m not exactly loaded.  I think that might have something to do with why I was so irrational about the car.”

Tatsurou nods thoughtfully.

“That’s a piss poor apology, just so you know,” he remarks.

Hazuki can see the smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“I know it is,” he acknowledges.

He reaches out and gives Tatsurou’s elbow a squeeze, causing the other man to tense at his touch and sit a bit straighter.

“Come out with me while I smoke?”

Obediently, Tatsurou disposes of his Styrofoam cup and makes for the door.  They stand under the awning of the building near the street corner leaning on the painted concrete under the kaleidoscope of neon and traffic lights.

“She said a lot of other things, too,” Hazuki remarks around the cigarette filter.

Tatsurou can just imagine what kinds of cruel things a woman might say when breaking up with a guy like Hazuki.  Maybe he ought to leave well enough alone, but something tells him his friend wants him to ask.

“Like?”

“Like how impossible it was… being with someone who always has his eyes on somebody else.”

Tatsurou shakes his head at that.

“She’s mental.  I’ve _never_ seen you look at another person when you’re dating.  You’re too loyal for that.”

“No, well, _you_ wouldn’t have seen it,” Hazuki confesses ruefully.  “I made sure of that.”

Tatsurou pouts.

“What, like I’d have ratted you out or something!”

“No.  But you might have taken my looks the wrong way… the _right_ way, which I really wasn’t ready to handle.”

“Who were you looking at?” asks Tatsurou, his mind a whirl of bewilderment and jealousy.  “And what’s the ‘right wrong way’ to take them?”

Hazuki stays quiet for a long time, weighing how best to own up to the truth.

“You,” he finally admits directly, “The same way you’ve been looking at me since we were fourteen.”

Tatsurou feels sick to his stomach.

“You knew.”

Hazuki gives a wry chuckle.

“Of course I knew.  Subtlety isn’t exactly your strong suit, especially when you’re drunk and horny.”

Tatsurou can’t laugh, not even bitterly.

 _Since we were fourteen._   The furtive glances during PE class, his bumbled almost-confession that night in the woods, all those times he allowed himself to be caught in the act with some girl – Hazuki had already known?

“You’ve been looking at me… the way I’ve been looking at you.  You’ve known all these years, and could have made a move at any time but never did.  I don’t understand why….”

“It freaked me out at first, okay?!” Hazuki exclaims.  “A guy’s not supposed to fall in love with his best friend… or so I thought.”

He tosses his cigarette butt and drags his free hand through his hair in frustration, and Tatsurou has to close his eyes to keep himself focused on the words instead of that unintentionally sensual act.  Hazuki steps down from the curb and Tatsurou goes with him, willing to follow without needing to know where it is his friend is leading him.

“I kept expecting you to try something,” Hazuki elaborates as they walk.  “Thinking about what you’d say or do, what I should say or do to reject you without hurting you.  For months it felt like I was walking around with a cattle prod shoved up my ass, I was so nervous.  But then you never _did_ try anything, so I started to doubt what I thought I’d seen.  Which made me watch you even closer.  By the time I was sure I’d been right about your feelings, I’d begun to wonder if you were disgusted with yourself for wanting me.  If you thought I wasn’t good enough for you.  Which totally messed with my head, because… why the hell did I care that you weren’t hitting on me?  All of which sort of inevitably led me to imagining what it would be like if you _did_ made the move and I _didn’t_ say ‘no’….”

Tatsurou is having an out-of-body experience.  It’s as if he’s being carried down the street by someone else’s feet, listening to Hazuki’s voice through someone else’s ears, feeling someone else’s heart trying to beat its way through someone else’s ribs.

“You never made the move either,” he hears himself say.

“Couldn’t risk it.  What if I’m nothing like what you’ve built me up to be in your mind, and once the fantasy is over, you can’t stand the sight of me?”

Tatsurou frowns.  Of all the possible hurdles they might have to jump, that seems one of the remotest.

“What if _you_ decide you can’t handle being with a guy?” he counters.  “What if you realize you can do much, _much_ better than a guy with a face like mine?” 

Hazuki gives a disdainful snort.

“Would you drop it about your face already?  I never meant it that way, and you know it.  I happen to like your stupid face.” 

Tatsurou ignores the semi-compliment because it’s distracting from his point.

“What if you have a mid-life crisis, decide that you need to do the ‘responsible son’ thing, and settle down with a wife and kids?  I can’t predict the future, Hazu.  But I’ve known you long enough to be well aware of your flaws, and even in my craziest fantasies you aren’t perfect.  You’re still moody and anti-social and smoke too much.  That’s never….”

He bites his lip.

Hazuki turns and looks at him with that soul- penetrating gaze.

“Never?” he urges.

“You’re gonna make me say it first, aren’t you?” Tatsurou complains.

“Seems only fair, since you felt it first.”

Tatsurou gives a little huff. 

Plucking up his courage, he takes his best friend’s hand in his own, weaving their fingers together.

“Your flaws have never stopped me from loving you.”

His confession hangs in the air for a few seconds.  Then Hazuki’s lips are pressed fiercely against his.

He tastes like cigarette smoke, smells of ink and leather, feels like heaven against Tatsurou’s mouth.  And those gorgeous hands, tangled with his own and stroking along his jaw, ignite a desperation within him.  If Hazuki expected Tatsurou to accept a passive role in their kiss, he quickly discovers otherwise.  He presses the tattooist to the side of the nearest building, reciprocating every touch – each bite, fondle, and clutching grasp – with a passion that makes their heads swim.

“Maybe we should… find somewhere… less public,” Tatsurou pants.

The thrill of being caught is one thing; the risk of being outright thwarted is something else entirely.  Besides, no one else deserves to see this.

“This is your building, dumbass,” Hazuki teases, equally winded.  “Don’t you recognize it?”

“I wouldn’t recognize my own mother at the moment,” laughs Tatsurou.  “Help me find my key.”

Five minutes of heated kisses and unnecessary groping later, the key is found right where they knew it would be (his jacket pocket), and the two men scramble up the steps hand in hand.

They’re barely through the door of Tatsurou’s flat before clothes begin falling off: jackets, shoes and socks, tie and belts.  Tatsurou’s hands find their way under Hazuki’s shirt, mapping the ridges of his spine, pulling Hazuki closer so that Tatsurou can _feel_ the need he’s creating and know it’s not all just a dream.  Hard muscles press to firm flesh – yes, the desire is real for both of them.

“You sure about this?” Hazuki whispers against the shell of Tatsurou’s ear.

Fingernails dig into his back, drawing a sharp hiss.

“Don’t you bail on me now,” Tatsurou growls, hips rolling forward of their own accord.  “Not after I’ve waited so long.”

Tatsurou’s voice sounds so raw and desperate; Hazuki marvels at the exhilaration of being able to turn on the man he cares for so much.  He leans back slightly, taking in his best friend’s dishevelled appearance: pupils blown wide, skin flushed, and lips glistening.  Hazuki cups Tatsurou’s cheek and runs his thumb over his lower lip; Tatsurou nips at it.  Then something flashes in his eyes.

“When was the last time you washed your hands?”

Hazuki’s brows arch at the unexpected question.

“Washed and sanitized after my last customer.  Why?”

Instead of answering, Tatsurou surges forward, catching Hazuki’s thumb between his teeth.  He licks it teasingly, flicking the pad with the tip of his tongue before closing his lips around it and sucking lightly.  Hazuki’s eyes widen at the contented rumble emanating from Tatsurou’s chest.

_He’s getting off to sucking my thumb?_

He finds his answer a second later when Tatsurou releases the appendage to trail hot kisses along the creases of his palm.

“Gods, these hand,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over the sensitive skin of Hazuki’s wrist.  “You have such sexy hands.”

Hazuki’s never given much thought to hands themselves; to him, they’re just means to an end.  But when Tatsurou bites gently on the star tattooed on the webbing between his thumb and index finger, so many of those glances Tatsurou has given him over the years start to make sense.

“Tell me where you want my hands, then,” he suggests. 

He tugs open the collar of Tatsurou’s shirt to trace along the collarbone enticingly and into the hollow at the base of his throat.  The smouldering look Tatsurou sends him makes Hazuki’s stomach clench in expectation.

“Everywhere.”

Hazuki doesn’t have to be told twice.  He shoves two fingers into Tatsurou’s eager mouth and forces the other hand past the waistband of Tatsurou’s suit trousers.  Tatsurou moans loudly, fumbling with the zipper to give Hazuki more room to move, even as Hazuki is squeezing and kneading him the way he’s fantasized about for decades. 

 _Finally, his hands,_ Tatsurou exults in the thought. _They’re better than I ever imagined._

With expert precision, Hazuki manipulates his body, alternating between soft caresses and firm strokes, until Tatsurou’s knees have turned to jelly.  And as he does so, Tatsurou worships the appendages at his mouth: kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling.

“Fo goo…”

_I knew he’d be genius with these hands.  So good.  Is this how he touches himself?_

That idea is too much for him, and with a strangled shout that’s sure to irritate the neighbours, he climaxes.

“That was quick,” Hazuki smirks, withdrawing his hand from Tatsurou’s face and wiping the saliva on his shirt sleeve.

“Shut up.  Twenty years of suppressed desire catches up to a man in a hurry.”

Tatsurou is resting his head on Hazuki’s shoulder, trying to steady his breathing, when he notices Hazuki’s soiled hand moving toward the waistband of his own boxers.  He grabs Hazuki by the wrist.

“Let me.”

He brings Hazuki’s hand to his mouth, putting on a show as he licks it clean.  Truth be told, it tastes disgusting to him, but nothing will ever surpass this feeling of _finally_ satisfying his deepest desires.  And the lust in Hazuki’s expression doesn’t hurt either.  Once every drop is gone, Tatsurou sinks to his knees, taking Hazuki’s pants with him.  He hasn’t been with many men; none could ever live up to his ideal.  Still, he’s confident he won’t disappoint in this new act of adoration.  His teeth graze over Hazuki’s hip bone and his cheek brushes against his heated arousal, drawing out a sharp gasp.

“Tease,” Hazuki groans.

Tatsurou wraps his warm lips around Hazuki’s tip, swirling his tongue around like he’s licking a lollipop, fingers ghosting over sensitive inner thigh.  He lets his head sink lower and lower, until Hazuki’s entire length is engulfed in wet heat.  Then he sucks in sharply, hollowing his cheeks as he draws back.

“Shit, this is payback for calling you quick, isn’t it?” Hazuki grinds out between clenched teeth, hips bucking.

“Mhmm.”

The vibration of Tatsurou’s chuckling hum sends electricity zinging through every nerve, and Hazuki drags his shirt off so he can shove it between his teeth.  He may lose it a quickly as Tatsurou did, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to be as loud.

Tatsurou eases the pressure, allowing his tongue to roam free once more.  It’s a little overwhelming for him, making love to Hazuki with his mouth.  Hazui’s scent in his nostrils, Hazuki’s taste on his tongue, Hazuki’s hands in his hair.  Watching as Hazuki’s eyes flutter closed, head tilting back against the wall with an expression of pure bliss on his face.

_I won’t ever get enough of this.  Of him._

A sharp tug of the hair warns him that Hazuki is reaching his limit, so he redoubles his efforts.  When it hits, he pulls away, allowing the proof of Hazuki’s pleasure to paint his face.  Hazuki sways on his feet, and would topple over if Tatsurou doesn’t grab him and practically drag him over to the sofa to lie down.  They tangle themselves together on the cushions, thoroughly dishevelled and more sated than they’ve ever been in their lives.

“Not too… disappointing… I hope,” Hazuki wheezes.

“You’ll do,” Tatsuro jokes, parroting Hazuki’s words about the Mustang.

Hazuki aims a retaliatory smack at Tatsurou’s backside, mostly catching the sofa.

“Thank you,” Tatsurou offers after a few minutes silence.

“For?”

“For not being weird out about my… thing for your hands.”

“Everyone’s got fantasies,” Hazuki validates.

He holds his hand out, and Tatsurou entwines their fingers again.

“I guess they do.  How about next time,” Tatsurou murmurs, “We find some place private to park that new ride of yours, and I make you come so much, they’ll never get the smell of sex out of the leather seats.”

Hazuki gives his old best friend and new lover’s forehead a kiss.

“How’d you know that’s always been my fantasy?”

**Author's Note:**

>  **1)** Fic title is from a MUCC song of the same name (abbreviated [DfD](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x32r3t2)).  
>  **2)** IRL Tatsurou is 3 years older than Hazuki, but this isn't real life so whatever. Hazuki is from Aichi Prefecture (hence the move "up" to Tokyo). The beginning of the story is set there rather than Ibaraki Prefecture, where Tatsurou grew up, because... IDK, it's just what happened.  
>  **3)** There is nothing wrong with Tatsurou's face. I'm not in any way, shape, or form implying there is. No, he doesn't have the stereotypical visual kei pretty boy look, but I like him all the better for his uniqueness.  
>  **4)** Lest anyone attempt to jump down my throat about it, the fact that the woman was married doesn't make the way Tatsurou treated her right. I know that. You know that. I know that you know that. And now, you know that I know that.  
>  **5)** Okay, so the hand-washing comment. I realize that in fic, hygiene gets glossed over a lot, but these two actually tried to _derail_ the smut because the "ick where have his hands been" thing. Like Tatsurou started hinting that maybe he wanted to wash Hazuki's hands _for_ him - hot water, warm towel, scented soap, the whole nine yards - ... and while that could be an amazing sensual scene for some other fic with these two, it's so NOT what I was going for here.


End file.
